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Kicking one butt at a time

nightmare

Who doesn’t love side effects from taking medication? Everything, it seems, has some sort of side effect. Have you ever listened to those medication ads on TV? Yikes!

But sometimes, we have to take the medication so we must deal with the consequences. As it is with me… I got new meds and a slew of new experiences.

My doctor gave me the medicine and a pamphlet of all the possible side effects and said, “You will probably be OK. Most of the side effects are rare.”

“OK,” I said. I took the prescription and had it filled.

I really don’t want to take the medicine, but I know if I don’t, my husband is going to bury me in a box somewhere. Well, maybe that is a little harsh, but I have been difficult to live with. I am not sure which is worse, the nightmares or the headaches. Poor John. I wake him up in the middle of the night with either screaming fits from the nightmares or retching sounds from the headaches. John needs his sleep just as much as I do. In addition to that, I’ve been kind of a downer. You know, kind of disheartened and disconnected.

I saw a therapist for a while because I really didn’t want meds. I thought she might be able to figure out the source of my malaise and head pain. After a few sessions, she had the answer. She said my work was stressing me out and I should either find another job or get meds. So, here we are. On the meds.

I’ve been taking the “Don’t Be a Crazy Person” pills for about two months now. At first I didn’t feel much different, but then the side effects started up. I guess the pills are working because I really don’t care about the side effects at all.

I mean, the horns are barely noticeable if I poof my hair up a little. I have to be careful with hats though. I ruined my Wicked Weed hat last week (kind of ironic, right?) Maybe I can patch it.

I am still getting used to the tail. It’s only about three feet long and has a little furry tip at the end that my cat likes to chase. Just what I always wanted, my own built in cat toy. You have to admit, that is pretty cool.

Even though I am feeling a little bit better, my husband says I should increase my dosage. My nightmares are not completely gone and my stress level is starting to creep back up as are the headaches. I am considering it. Who knows, I might get a pair of leathery wings to go with my horns and tail. Won’t that be a hoot!

If you can’t kick the cat butt, just put horns on it and call it a day.

When I started this cat butt kicking lifestyle, I knew there would be days when the butt would win. This particular cat butt wasn’t an especially big one, or an important one, but it really irked me that I succumbed.

Look out. They are everywhere

How it all started
Let me start out by saying that last week was really tough. I was physically and mentally exhausted. I did a little traveling for work, but that wasn’t the reason I was so tired. My nightmares were keeping me up. It isn’t uncommon for me to have nightmares. Most of them are actually quite fun. I am usually in some alternate reality fighting vampires, zombies, and other creepy things. Sure, it is a bloody, sticky mess and my heart beats out of my chest, but these kinds of dreams are the best and I get the biggest kick out of running from a giant squid monster or getting stuck inside some amorphous jelly-like blob. The real nightmares happen when I dream about work. You know the kind; you are asked about a project you haven’t even started; you catch a error in your PowerPoint presentation in the middle of the meeting and someone calls you out on it (usually with big, bad words); or the wrong things keep coming out of your mouth and you can’t shut up and things just spiral out of control. Yep, those are the things that have been keeping me up at night.

When the Cat Butt Got Me
On Wednesday, I was dead on my feet. My mind was fuzzed from sleep deprivation, and I was doing my best not to fall face first into a pile of notes with handwriting I couldn’t even read. (My penmanship sucks.) I was chugging coffee cup after cup, slinging back 5-hour energy drinks every couple of hours, and giving myself hard slaps on the face so I would at least remember to breathe. Yes, I was that tired and my concentration skills were shot. If I saw a picture of a beach, I would think how nice it would be to take a nap on the soft, warm sand. If someone were talking about snow, I would think how nice it would be to build an igloo and hibernate in it for a good six months. I had it bad. The end of the workday was finally coming to a close and I headed home with visions of bed and pillows. However, I had one more thing to do before I could sink into my soft, oh-so-soft bed. I’ve got a half-marathon road race coming up in a few weeks and I needed to log some training miles. This was the last thing I wanted to do; still, I put on the running gear, trying desperately not to even lean on my bed. By this time, the bed seemed to have super gravitational powers and if I touched it, I would be doomed. I got out of the house as quickly as I could and started jogging down the street. I hadn’t been running for more than five minutes when my feet just stopped. They turned me around and made me look at my house. It looked really nice, warm and inviting. I even think I heard it say, “I miss you. Please come back and take a nap with me.” But like the stubborn ass I can sometimes be, I turned my iPod on full break-your-eardrums high and pushed onward. You might think this was a victory, and not a defeat. Perhaps it was, but it was short lived.

I was about two miles out and I was feeling every step; every footfall on the concrete seemed to pull my legs downward. My legs felt like they were sinking into the pavement as if it were sticky, gooey clay; every step just got heavier and heavier until I felt like I was dragging along the road. All I could think about was sleeping in my nice soft bed with a cat purring at my feet. I rounded a corner and saw my route was somewhat blocked. I was running in an area where new home construction was going up, and several trucks and workmen were loading and unloading equipment on both sides of the street. My mind, as slow as it was, quickly rationalized that I should avoid this by taking a shortcut. My cat butt kicking self said there was no reason to avoid this route; there was plenty of room. Guess who won. The cat butt got me. I turned and took the short cut. My mind was smiling at how much closer and sooner the finish would be. My cat butt kicking self was scolding the crud out of me. How could I succumb so fast? The speed and ease in which I let the butt win was scary. Yet, I was too tired to beat myself up too much, which was concerning too.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep very well that night either. Not only was I having work nightmares, now I was having running nightmares. In those, I would try to run, but I couldn’t. I would be stuck in place and people would just run passed me laughing. Ahhhh! What I wouldn’t give for a bloody toothed vampire right about then.

Coming to terms with the butt in your way

Moving Past the Cat Butt DebacleI wasn’t happy with myself. It happened and I couldn’t go back a fix it. I wanted to blame it on my lack of sleep, my need to be rendered unconscious for many days, but really, I’ve used that tired old cat butt of an excuse for so many things for so long; it is time to change. Before I started this quest, I would have thrown up my hands and declared myself a failure and start letting any old cat butt stop me because I just wasn’t cut out for any kind of success. Not this time though. I had to prove I was changing into a better, more determined person.

When Saturday finally rolled around, I had an 8 mile run planned in my training schedule. And it was raining. It wasn’t a thunderstorm, just a cold, wet, annoying rain. I didn’t even bat an eye at the wet stuff. I put on my running gear plus a little rain gear and headed out. Most of the time, the rain was fairly light, but there were times when it really poured. Those were the times when I was kicking some butts. Those stinky poop holes were telling me to stop under shelters, loop back around and go home, and even hitch a ride from a neighbor (who was kind enough to offer a wet mess like me into her car). I left all those butts sloshing around in the mud as I trudged forward. I was finishing what I started. And I did finish.

Whatever it takes (image by Snoron.com)

This may seem like a super small victory to some, but it is more than that to me. It proves to me that I can keep going and trying even after a failure. It also shows me that I can fail and probably will again, but failure doesn’t have to get the last meow.

I’m still pretty tired. The nightmares about work haven’t let up, so it might be time to start kicking cat butt in the dream world too. I wonder if I can manifest a few vampires, werewolves, and maybe a ghoul or two into these work dreams of mine. I’ll give it a shot; what is the worst that can happen? Maybe a mindless PowerPoint shape will swallow me up? Yikes! Terrifying.